


Love Will Thaw

by Hansotsi (Karmula)



Series: Hanna Week 2014 [10]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Continuation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hans Being Less of an Asshole (Disney), Hans Redemption (Disney), Implied/Referenced Cheating, Makeup Sex, Minor Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karmula/pseuds/Hansotsi
Summary: Anna had always wanted love. Her desperation made her weak, and, like a vulture circling its prey high in the sky, Hans had seen that weakness. He had swooped, had been there to give her what she craved, right when she needed it the most, had feasted on as much of her flesh as he could, and, lo and behold, he had left his mark. She knew that no matter whose hands she might be touched by, they would always feel like his.Anna had been naïve, she knew that now, but still she felt like maybe, just maybe it hadn’t all been a lie. At least, she hoped. With all her bruised and broken heart, she hoped.





	Love Will Thaw

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Hanna Week Day IX, 2014, inspired by the prompt "After the Great Thaw: Your Post-Movie Canon." Edited and reuploaded in 2019.

**Hans**

_“I will return this scoundrel to his country. We shall see what his twelve big brothers think of his behaviour.”_

Hans slumped against the rough wood panels of the cell, massaging the back of his head, where a large egg was already swelling beneath the tender skin. He felt his eyes prick with tears and screwed them shut, hoping to hold them back. His eyelids glowed red, and he knew it was a result of the light filtering in strips through the bars, but he couldn’t help but feel it was a sign. The red that obscured his vision; the black and the blue of the bruise he could feel blooming against the skin of his scalp. They were colours with negative connotations, and he couldn’t help but feel they were an omen, a window into the colours of his future.

Anger, violence, blood, death, sorrow, sadness. Red, black, blue. The colours of his future, but also, he realised with a shiver, the colours of his past. Would he ever be happy?

He could have been, he thought, if it wasn’t for Anna. Hans hacked up a wad of saliva in his throat and spat it at the ground. Adorable, ginger-haired and rosy-cheeked, clumsy little Princess Anna, who had managed to defy him to her very last breath, despite having claimed to love him in the days and even hours that preceded.

And just now he had overheard that the wretched slut had found a _new_ lover, the blonde-haired mountain man he vaguely remembered seeing on the fjord, only – what? _Hours_ later? Pathetic! He could taste acid on his tongue, sharp and hot and bitter, and had to fight to swallow back the bile reflux rising in his throat.

Oh, how he wished he had run her through with his sword in that parlour, that he had driven his blade into her stomach to the damned hilt instead of indulging in that oh-so-cliché villain monologue! He could have watched the spark, the_ life_ ebb slowly from her crystalline blue eyes, wide as dinner plates; he could have watched her blood, ruby-red, spill from her lifeless, crumpled form and soak into the chaise lounge cushions; he could have slain the Ice Queen in much the same way, with nothing and no one to throw themselves in his path, and secured the crown and kingship of Arendelle.

He could have had it all.

But would that have made him happy?

_Of course! You would have been King, with a whole kingdom to call your own! If that wouldn’t have made you happy, what on Earth could?_

Sailing over the vast, glittering sea that separated his homeland from Arendelle on the way to the then-princess Elsa’s coronation, he had thought that that was all he’d ever wanted, all he would ever need – to be King. Hans rubbed his hands over the back of his neck, tousling his auburn hair, imagining the weight of a heavy, golden crown on his head. On that ship, he had felt a sense of satisfaction, sure; a sense of pride also, of anticipation, definitely, and even the slightest hint of trepidation – but happiness? True, unadulterated happiness?

The only time he had felt _that_ was when he was with…

_Anna._

Images rippled to the forefront of his mind, sending twinges of guilt panging through his belly. Anna, perched beside him on the balcony railing, the sweet scent of wisteria filling both their nostrils as she told him of her lonely childhood; Anna, pulling him by the hand, a seemingly ever-present gleam of excitement in her eyes as she showed him across Arendelle; Anna, standing with him on the shelf on the clock tower, a stupid, toothy grin on her face as she mimicked the automated clock figures.

Anna, face aglow in the silver light of the moon, as she said yes– inexplicably, unbelievably, _yes._

Who was he kidding? It had _always _been about Anna. From the moment he had hit her with his horse, it had been about Anna. He could have approached Elsa, the crown princess, the Queen, but instead, he had found himself actually making _excuses _to spend his time and energies on her sister. It would have been easier to have taken Elsa, after all; there wouldn’t have been any need for messy, unexpected deaths, no assassinations (no foiled assassination attempts, he thought almost wistfully), and he could have ruled over Arendelle with clean, un-bloodied hands.

But he would have been empty, devoid of what he craved the most, the thing he had yearned for since his earliest days outside the womb.

And while it had been naïve of the young princess to believe that they were already in – Hans hated to even think the word – _love, _he could not truthfully deny that he too had felt _something, _something that grew in the empty gardens of his heart, where he thought he had long ago salted the earth.

Something… like love?

And if so, what had happened in the parlour?

New images overtook the old – Anna, clutching at her chest and stumbling over her own feet as she tried to reach him; Anna, desperately begging him for the kiss she believed would save her; Anna, spread before him on the lounge, the red light of the flames flickering hungrily across her tired, pale face; the hurt, the confusion, the suffering and the betrayal in Anna’s eyes as he spoke his next words with smirking lips…

_“Oh, Anna. If only there were someone out there who loved you.”_

And what does one do when they feel something they do not wish to feel?

They deny it.

Hans hated to admit it, but…he had been afraid. Afraid of this new sensation, afraid of the strength of his own feelings, and, above all, afraid of allowing himself to become attached to another human being. He was afraid of becoming anything other than independent, for he had learned long ago that dependence ultimately equated to betrayal, disappointment and heartbreak.

Which, he thought bitterly, was exactly what he had given to Anna. His own twisted expectations of love had led to a self-fulfilling prophecy that left him alone once more and filled with regret.

He could have had it all.

Hans rolled onto his side, cushioning his head on his arm, and tried to suppress the deadly, venomous viper that had unfurled itself in the pit of his stomach by busying himself with thoughts of the future. Stupid – that was no better.

Currently, the Arendellian weather was warm, balmy, a dramatic change from its earlier Elsa-induced winter. Hans knew once the ship set sail for the Southern Isles, the temperature would drop dramatically, and a deep, bone-penetrating chill would set in as they crossed the ocean, another omen of what was to come. This, he knew, was the calm before the storm.

With a sigh he curled into a ball on the floor of his cell and fell asleep.

* * *

**Anna**

“Kristoff, what _is _all this?” Anna laughed, sinking to her knees beside him on the red-and-white chequered blanket. The day was warm, balmy – a typical day during an Arendellian summer – but the shaded, rocky, moss-covered outcrop combined with the freezing spray of the waterfall at either side of them provided a cool relief from the heat, one for which Kristoff was especially grateful. After all, he _had _lived his whole life on the North Mountain – and no matter how hot the weather could be down in Arendelle, the terrain of the mountain was always blanketed with several feet of fresh, white snow, with a chilly climate to match.

“It’s just a little – well, you’ll see,” Kristoff replied, cheeks a dusty pink as he blushed. He placed the wicker picnic basket beside them and began unpacking their spoils, setting out platters of delicate-looking savoury pastries that crumbled in his hands, bowls of glistening, brightly-coloured cubed fruits dripping and soaking in their own juices, and plates of moist, dark chocolate muffins and aromatic cookies.

Anna hummed, stretching out her legs and basking comfortably in the warm afternoon sunshine. “This is so nice. It really is beautiful up here,” she sighed.

And it was; from so high up, one could see the entirety of Arendelle, its many fountains gushing and glittering like liquid crystal, cottages the size of dollhouses lined up in neat little rows, children laughing breathlessly as they sprinted through the streets, ants in an endless maze.

Anna leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Kristoff gulped, mouth dry as he raked his eyes over the adorable ski-slope of Anna’s button nose, the smooth curve of her exposed, flushed throat, and down over the strawberry-blonde tangles of her braids, set on fire by the golden light. He nodded in appreciation of the view – although certainly not the same one she was praising – then, upon realising she couldn’t actually see him, rasped out a strangled sound of assent.

It seemed to suffice, though, for Anna smiled and continued to hum, reaching blindly for one of the pastries. She slipped it into her mouth, darting out a small pink tongue to swipe at the flaky crumbs that gathered at the corners of her lips.

“I wish it could be like this all the time,” she lamented, opening her eyes to examine the fruit bowl before selecting a ripe chunk of watermelon and popping it into her mouth, the ruby juices trickling down her chin.

Kristoff inhaled deeply. Now was his chance. “Well, maybe it can.”

Cocking her head, Anna examined him curiously, one eyebrow raised. “You know it can’t, Kristoff. I’m a _princess_, remember?” She snorted, casting her gaze downwards, her long, dark eyelashes brushing against her cheek as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. “I have _duties_.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Confused, Anna looked back up, eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “What do you–?”

“Shhh,” he interrupted, with a burst of sudden, insane, wonderful courage. Fumbling with something in his pocket, Kristoff brought himself to one knee, heart pounding in his chest, his breathing heavy.

What if she said no? No, no, he mustn’t think like that, couldn’t afford to.

_This is it._

“Anna, will you marry me?”

Anna froze, stock-still, staring at the velvet box in his hands – his gloved hands, shining in the light of the moon, the silver moon and the sparkling stars, in the middle of the day –

_Can I say something crazy?_

_Will you marry m-_

“I can’t. No, no, no, this isn’t – I _can’t_–”

Anna choked, sobbing and scrambling to her feet, her legs shaking, knees knocking together. She overturned several fragile glass bowls and china platters, crushed fruit and squashed cake, red as blood and black as night, seeping into the blanket, staining the bright material. She coughed, desperately trying to remove the lump in her throat, gasping for breath, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes and welling up and spilling over and it was all happening so _fast_ –

“_No!_ I can’t, I _can’t_–”

“Anna, wait, please!” Kristoff stumbled to his feet, shoving the box back into his pocket and reaching out a hand, catching Anna’s wrist.

She recoiled as if she had been burned, cradling her wrist in her other hand and screaming, “Don’t _touch _me, Hans, get _off!_”

She flung out a hand and caught him in the chest with unprecedented force, and Kristoff rocked back on his heels, tumbling into the mess on the picnic blanket with a thud, breath escaping his lungs with a sudden _whoosh. _Anna let out one more strangled sob before she turned on her heel, tears streaming down her face as she tripped blindly down the steep, rocky incline, grazing her knees and elbows and tearing shreds out of her dress.

_Hans?_

Somehow, after more than an hour of stumbling, lost, through the outskirts of Arendelle, she managed to find the castle, whose location had thus far eluded her despite its size and towering presence. Gerda and several other maidservants caught her at the gates, and she fell into their arms gratefully, still sobbing, her throat raw and her eyes puffy and stinging.

“Oh, Anna, what happened to you? You poor thing! Oh, come, child, let’s get you cleaned up–”

Anna only sobbed, her voice high and keening, and buried her face in Gerda’s bosom, where it was darker and the howling (_a wolf? Surely that can’t be me)_ was muffled, and she could ignore the way the world was softening at the edges.

Next, she remembered being stripped and sponged down with warm, soapy water, innumerable pairs of hands working on her naked flesh, goosebumps stippling her sensitive skin. She remembered feeling like their touches, no matter how gentle, were searing her, like she would surely be left black and blue with bruises after this.

She _didn’t _remember being put to bed, nor the sun setting and the moon rising high in the sky. Neither did she remember where reality had ended or where the nightmares had begun.

_“The only frozen heart around here is yours.”_

Anna remembered fist against flesh, a strangely satisfying crunching sound, like bone breaking, and a splash as he plummeted into the fjord, followed by the clapping and cheering of the foreign dignitaries that watched the scene unfold from the balcony. Maybe the warm water would thaw his heart, she had thought with a snicker.

But what was it Grand Pabbie had said?

_“Only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart.”_

She tossed and turned in her bed, a barrage of images, sharp as the tip of his sword, laying siege on her mind – Hans, perched on his horse, eyes wide and filled with concern, the sincerity of which had, at least at the time, seemed indisputable; Hans, catching her oh-so effortlessly and twirling her around the dance floor with similar grace and ease; Hans, sitting beside her on the wisteria-lined balcony, dwarfing her tiny hand in his and assuring her, _I would never shut you out. _For a moment she could almost forget. For a moment, she found herself mourning the loss of her Prince Charming.

And then she remembered the parlour, the chill that had seeped into the room, into her very core, bone-deep, as he doused the fire, and the click of the lock as he left, shutting the door tight behind him.

She didn’t want to love him.

At least, she didn’t think so. How could she ever love someone so cruel? But that didn’t change the fact that she _did _love him. She had _always _wanted love. And, like a vulture circling its prey high in the sky, he had seen her weakness.

He had swooped, had been there to give her what she craved, right when she needed it the most, had feasted on as much of her flesh as he could, and, lo and behold, he had left his mark. He had left a stain, one that might be invisible to the rest of the world, but one that she knew she would never be free of. She knew that no matter whose hands she might be touched by, they would always feel like _his._

Anna had been naïve, she knew that now, but she still felt like maybe, _maybe_ it hadn’t _all _been a lie. At least, she hoped. With all her bruised and broken heart, she hoped.

_“The only frozen heart around here is yours.”_

Frozen? Maybe, but –

_“Only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart.”_

And maybe she did want to love him. But not like this.

She knew what she wanted now.

She wanted to thaw his heart.

* * *

**Hans**

There was a metallic jangling, as of keys, and the cell door grated open with an ungodly screech, stirring Hans from his fitful slumber. He sat up, rubbing his tired eyes with hands balled into fists.

The streaming moonlight was cut into two, carving around the slim figure that stood silhouetted in the doorway. Hans frowned.

* * *

**Anna**

Hans frowned. His face shone silver-pale in the moonlight, and his freckles looked darker than she remembered. She could see each and every one of them, astonishingly dark in comparison to the rest of his him. His eyes – just as green as she remembered, just as dreamy – were narrowed into slits, and Anna kneeled before them, her own eyes wide in wonder as she drank him in hungrily.

She had expected to feel revulsion, to have to swallow back bile at the mere sight of him. She had half-expected to feel the need to run, to turn on her heel with wings on her feet and fly back to the safety of her bedroom.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

The frigid night air, so different from the air of the day, nipped at her skin with its unforgiving teeth, but inside, her blood boiled. Her face felt hot, flushed, and her hands were sweaty. She stepped inside the cell and shut the gate behind her, the bars cutting thick black lines into his face. She flipped one braid over her shoulder, never taking her eyes from him.

* * *

**Hans**

The figure flipped one braid over its shoulder, and as the moonlight caught it, setting each fiery strand aflame, Hans _knew_. His eyes widened, bright as stars, and full of everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Anna?”

She nodded tentatively, her movements suddenly less confident, more cautious, rigid. Hans stumbled forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her legs, burying his face in her knees just as the first sob broke free.

“Oh, _Anna, _I – I’m sorry, please, Anna, believe me, I’m so, _so_ sorry, oh, _please_–”

* * *

**Both**

She felt him sob against her, his tears soaking into the thin material of her nightgown and wetting her bare skin. At first, she heard each word he spoke, felt the vibration of each broken syllable that tumbled from his lips, but soon it all melted into one steady stream of incomprehensible speech. She was sure that at one point he even slipped back into Danish, his mother tongue, so lost was he in his grief.

Anna tangled her fingers in his thick auburn locks, breathing deeply and fighting back tears, the tightness in her chest almost overwhelming. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his mourning, and sniffled.

_Love will thaw._

Neither of them hesitated.

Falling to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the warm crook of his shoulder, and felt him do the same. She breathed in the scent of him, the heavy, musky smell, allowing it to fill her nostrils and then gulping in more. It wasn’t enough. Soon she was kissing every inch of him she could reach, her tear-swollen lips aching to touch every part of him.

She lapped away his tears, tasting the saltiness of them on her tongue and wanting more. Anna hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him closer and pressing hurried, frantic kisses to his temples, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his chin. Hans wept, eyes bleary and stinging with his tears, but he refused to shut his eyes, not even to blink.

How could he forgive himself if he missed even one moment of this? For surely, at this moment, he was either the luckiest man in the world – or he was dreaming. And if he was dreaming, and he closed his eyes, what if he should wake up? 

While Anna strained frantically to kiss every inch of him she could reach, greedy and hungering for more, Hans shrugged off his waistcoat, discarding it in a crumpled heap to the cell floor.

Hans held Anna’s writhing form steady in his lap, his broad, strong hands spanning her shoulder blades easily. She stilled, eyes glassed over with a sheen of tears, her lower lip trembling. His gaze flickered downwards, fixed on his destination, and he leaned in, catching her lower lip between his own and sucking lightly. She moaned, her hot breath flooding his mouth, and he panted, closing the distance between them fully in a crushing, bruising kiss.

Never breaking their connection, Anna crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her nightgown by its hem. Hans aided her, taking her hands in his and tugging the shift over her head to expose her entire body, shining softly in the light of the moon. She was like the sky herself, a pale canvas full of stars, galaxies of freckles adorning her velvety skin.

He pulled free and bent forward, pressing his lips the gap between her breasts, against the rigid bone of her sternum that was _just_ visible, before sealing his mouth over her left nipple and suckling tenderly, like a pup from his mother. Swirling his tongue around the base of her nipple, his teeth scraped gently, slowly against the quivering nub, and Anna cried out, stuffing one fist into her mouth to stifle the noise and entangling the other more fully into his hair and yanking, arching her back to press herself more fully into Hans’s mouth.

At an achingly slow pace, he made his way over to her other nipple, taking the hardened pearl between his lips and sucking. This time, Anna couldn’t suppress her moan, and she gyrated her hips in response to the shiver that coursed up her spine. Hans trailed one hand lazily down her back, running the roughened pads of his thumbs and fingertips over the fragile, protruding vertebrae.

“_Hans.._.”

He silenced her with a kiss before moving his hands to the buckles of his breeches. Bracing herself by placing her knees on the creaking wooden floor of the ship at either side of him, she levered herself up so that she was hovering above him. Her hands free, she worked frantically with him until he had shaken free his pants, leaving him in only a rumpled, wrinkled shirt and undergarments.

The prince began to remove this last layer when he hesitated, his hands on the waistband of his underwear.

He didn’t deserve this.

He glanced up, planning to tell her to stop, to lie and say he didn’t want this, but instead felt himself fall into the endless blue pools of Anna’s eyes. His tears, finally dried on his cheeks, flowed anew, and so did Anna’s. She smiled through her own, lips glistening wetly, and leaned down to brush a kiss to his forehead, trailing a hand underneath his jaw to cup his chin. Then, as if she had read his mind:

_“Please.”_

_Love will thaw._

That was all the prompting he needed.

She cried out as he thrust inside of her, clawing weakly at his back through the silken fabric of his shirt, the sounds of her scratches mingling with the scratching made by her raw throat as she moaned, again and again, calling his name, savouring it in her mouth, rolling it around her tongue like it was holy, like she was speaking a prayer to the high heavens above.

Hans caught her lips in his, exploring her mouth with feathery, tender strokes of his tongue as her inner walls clamped and contracted around his trembling length. He felt the pressure building steadily in his belly, and continued to move his lips against Anna’s, perfectly in sync, determined to beat down the pressure, to hold it back, to make this moment last for as long as he could –

Until he could hold it no longer. He emptied himself into Anna, filling her with his love, and she cried out his name at the same time as he did hers, lost in the sheer strength of his climax.

Anna sighed then and collapsed against him, spent, her arms once more around his neck and her tears soaking his shirt until the material turned transparent. Hans pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, already feeling himself drift away. As much as he wanted to savour this moment, to treasure it and to make it last forever, he could not. He was too tired, too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, to keep his eyes open any longer.

His head nodded against his chest, cheek pressed flat against her soft hair as he fell asleep, the jewel of his life – greater, he now understood, than any jewel in even the finest of crowns – huddled, sleeping, against his chest.

* * *

**Anna**

_Love will thaw._

* * *

**Hans**

_I love you._


End file.
